


Souvenirs

by Sintari (OriginalSintari)



Series: Sintari's Wincestmas 2019 Ficlets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/pseuds/Sintari
Summary: When they were boys, they buried a time capsule.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Sintari's Wincestmas 2019 Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597102
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	Souvenirs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Caffeinechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/pseuds/caffeinechesters) for Wincestmas 2019/2020. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> This one can also be read as gen.

“Hey, Sammy, we could pass by Ely if we don’t make the next turn.” They’d hightailed it out of Monument, Colorado as fast as they could, fat lot of good that did them. Sam had been pensive ever since the demon attack on the Sheriff’s station, and even though he was the one going to Hell, Dean also felt compelled to lighten the tension in the car. 

“Ely? Why does that sound so familiar.” 

Dean waits, doesn’t prompt. Sammy’s got that big brain. It’ll come to him. 

“That crazy train museum! Where I-”

“-almost fell in the sludge trench,” they finish together. 

The Northwest Railroad Museum’s only rules seem to have been “Poke around this old trainyard. Don’t fall in any holes.” They only barely managed to follow both. 

They’d been fifteen and eleven then. The last year, Dean always privately thinks, that Sam was still truly his sweet Sammy. Before hormones and temper tantrums kicked into overdrive the spring of his little brother’s twelfth birthday. 

They’d stayed in what was literally once a silver miner’s cabin while Dad tried to figure out what had been killing backcountry hikers all over the windswept Great Basin. This was before Sam got bitchy about missing science fairs and all that other stuff he would later care so much about. 

Dean waits for Sam to remember the other thing. 

“That was cool,” his brother says. “Think that place has been shut down by some kind of government agency yet?” 

Okay, so maybe his brother needs a bit of prompting. “Remember what else we did in Ely?” 

They’re at their turnoff now. Dean comes to a dead stop in the middle of the road, feeling Sam’s questioning silence fill the car. 

“Um… Why do I get the feeling I’m supposed to have some great memory of this place. I mean, I was what… eight or nine?” 

“Alright, Sammy.” Well this is suddenly no fun anymore. Dean turns the wheel right, back toward Sioux Falls and a much needed tune up for his Baby.

“Wait!” His brother pounds the dash. “The time capsule!” 

Dean feels the muscle in his jaw he hadn’t realized he’d clenched relax. 

“We should look for it,” Sam says. And Dean points his Baby back toward Ely. 

()()()()()

“Geez this was a dump,” Dean observes when the pull up to the abandoned house. Well, literal shack really.

Sam shrugs. “They all were.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue. Decides against it. He’ll battle Sammy about which Zeppelin album rocks the hardest, or how many times they’ve passed Carhenge, but this is not a battle he’s willing to pick, when his brother looks so happy, loping, shovel in hand, around back to the lone tree under which they buried their treasure. 

This adventure seems silly, suddenly, compared to all they’re facing down.

“Uh- Sammy. I don’t even know what we used. Probably a shoebox or something. It may have rotted away by now.” 

“Nuh uh Dean, you were the one that brought it up,” he hears Sam shout. “Besides, don’t you want whatever copy of Busty Asian Beauties you stashed in here?”

“My taste was nowhere near so refined back then.” 

“Then I shudder to think what we’re going to find.” 

Sam’s already digging by the time Dean has dug two beers out of the cooler. Hey, supervising is thirsty work, too. 

In less than ten minutes the shovel hits something with a clang. They peer in. Green and metal. That’s when Dean remembers the old army footlocker they’d found in the shack. That was what had given him the idea to create a time capsule in the first place. That and Sam obviously getting dangerously bored watching the same two movies Dean had boosted from a mom and pop video chain outside Vegas. 

Sam finishes digging it up. Dean can tell he’s into the idea now because he’s not even complaining about Dean not taking a turn. 

When the chest has been extracted and now sits on the ground between them, they look at one another. 

“You wanna?” Sam starts.

“You dug it up. You do the honors.” 

Sam’s back is to him now, but Dean can read the smile just in the lines of Sam’s body. This was worth it then, he thinks.

The first thing Sam fishes out is a VHS tape of _The Burbs._

__

“Oh god! We were so sick of this one.” Sam holds the cassette up to show him. “This was back when you used to shove two tapes down your pants every time Dad let you get within a mile of a video store.” 

“Hey, I was trying to get a little side hustle started. Remember when we stayed in that cult town in Indiana and I could rent those suckers out for five bucks a pop?” 

“I have no idea why you weren’t the next Bill Gates,” Sam says wryly. He’s rummaging in the box again. 

He drops the next thing he finds, then wipes his hands on his jeans. 

“It’s covered in lubricant.” 

Dean’s eyebrows fly to his hairline until he sees what Sam is pointing out. It’s some kind of machined piece of metal. 

“You took that from the train museum!” Sam suddenly remembers. “Is this whole box full of stuff you stole?” But he says it fondly, no trace of accusation in his voice. 

Dean elbows him aside. “Surely you put something in there, Samantha.” But the next thing in the pile is a curled and yellowed Hustler Magazine. Dean lets out a long whistle.

“This was one of my better ones, Sammy. Why’d I ever put this in there?” 

When Sam speaks up, his voice sounds small, like he’s eleven again. “I wanted you to put something special to you in there.” 

And Dean remembers it now. Sam’s little voice, “We’ll come back and dig this up when we’re all grown up. Because we’ll always be together. Right, Dean?”

To quell whatever emotion that just was, Dean flips the magazine open. Whoa. Yep, there was a reason this magazine automatically flipped open to this particular page. Dean shuts it and tosses it aside. To retriever later. For nostalgia and all. He dives back into the box.

“Holy shit! Elbow-Crawl Guy! That’s where he went!” 

Now it’s Sam’s turn to remember. “Dad…” 

And Dean remembers that, too. Ragging on Sam for losing Bayonet Guy and Elbow Crawl Guy, only to be chastised by their father for being too old to play with toys. 

But, “I didn’t see you put him in there, you sneaky little fucker,” is all Dean says. He quickly reaches into the box to distract them with the next item. 

“What’s this?” 

It’s a folded piece of paper. The outside is from a book. The page with the publisher info and the Library of Congress number and all that jazz. 

Sam grabs for it, but Dean manages to keep it. 

“Oh God,” Sam is saying, his face in his hands. “I think I might have written you a letter.” 

“What?” Dean draws out the syllable. “Now this I gotta see.” 

Sam stands up abruptly. “Then I gotta take a walk.” 

Dean opens the letter and immediately recognizes Sam’s childish handwriting. The same writing he’d seen on countless book reports and science fair projects and one note saying that he was running away and not to look for him. Sam’s handwriting matured into his current scrawl a long time ago, of course, so seeing this is a little bit like getting a glimpse of his Sammy again. 

Dean swallows and begins to read. 

_Dear Dean,_

_I put Sergeant Ric Flair in here so that when we dig this up again when we are adults you can play with him. I know you always say Colonel Andre the Giant is your favorite, but I know you better than you think. I’m not just a squirt like you say. Anyway, when we’re grown up dad can’t tell us what to do anymore. So now you can play with Sergeant Ric Flair anytime you want._

_Your brother,  
Sam_

Dean has to swallow a few more times. His eyes keep wanting to go blurry for some reason.

“How bad was it?” Sam has returned from making a lap around the house. 

Dean hopes Sammy doesn’t hear how his voice cracks when he brings himself to answer. 

“It was terrible.” He clears his throat. “So embarrassing. God you were an insufferable kid.” 

And he tucks the letter into his pocket before Sam sees. Later, when Sam’s in the shower, he’ll transfer it to his wallet where, seven months after that, when Sam finds it among his effects, it will be frayed at the folds from re-reading.

**Author's Note:**

> That train museum is REAL. And it is absolutely as filthy, dangerous and awesome as it is in the fic. 
> 
> This little ficlet came to me in a rush of inspiration when I could think of NOTHING to write my Wincestmas giftee. If you enjoyed this very off-brand-for-me fluff, please let me know. Comments and kudos are love. <3
> 
> Rebloggable Tumblr link [here](https://crooked-sleep.tumblr.com/post/190120239439/souvenirs).


End file.
